My eyes fluttered open to a darkened room. I didn’t remember falling asleep.

I willed my eyes open further and glanced at the clock. 3:00 a.m. Jaxx had left last night around eleven. He must have changed his mind and went home after seeing his daughter.

I tried to ignore the disappointment I had no right to feel. His daughter had been hurt. I remembered those times being young, when I’d get hurt and only wanted my dad. When only dad could take away the pain and make the world right again . . . But unfortunately, I also knew there were things not even dads could save children from.

Sitting up, I looked at the end of my bed and then around the room, listening.

Where were Chris and Kyle? I’d actually shut the door without them in here? Adrenaline spiked through my system and my breath caught in my throat. I’d been in here alone. For hours. Since the day I’d brought them home, I’d never slept without them. Ever.

I jumped out of bed and threw my bedroom door open and almost tripped over both of them lying in front of my door. I took a few deep breaths, to get my heart rate back to normal.

You’re fine. Nothing. Happened.

I dropped to the floor and head locked them. “I’m so sorry, boys. I’m okay and I’m up. You can go to sleep now.” I pointed down the hall to the living room with one hand, heart thumping against the palm of the other over my chest as they trotted off.

Once back in my room, I jumped in the shower, unable to shake the unsteady feeling in the pit of my stomach. I got out and threw Jaxxon’s shirt back on before crawling into bed.

When you come, say my name.

One sentence and my brain had completely rewired.

My teeth. I’d forgotten to brush my teeth. Jaxxon . . . distractions didn’t get more dangerous or more gorgeous. All I could think of was that man’s hands on my skin. How intensely hard I’d come for him that first night. Tonight when he’d trailed his lips up my thigh and had been so close to . . .

“Dear God! Slutty much?” I stomped to the bathroom, grabbed the toothbrush, and scrubbed until my gums ached. I guzzled Listerine, burned the crap out of my mouth keeping it in too long, and spat in the sink. Jaxxon dominated the vast majority of my thoughts, which both alarmed me and kept me in a constant state of frustrated arousal.

Spinning around, I stalked back to bed, hopped in, and threw the covers over my head. Punching my pillows until they fluffed, I yanked the body pillow between my legs. The stuffing in the pillow molded between my thighs in a way that rubbed against my cleft. Fighting the urge to rub myself against it, I rearranged my legs.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to rest, but my body was on a different page. Even with the windows wide open, my skin heated.

Kicking the covers off, I flipped to my other side, hoping that would help. I couldn’t get comfortable. The only cure for what I had was six-feet-seven-inches of solid, beautiful man wrapped around me, inside me.

As his image floated around in my head, fluttery little quakes shimmied across my chest and down my stomach to tease my core. I flipped onto my back, crossed my arms, and stared at the dark expanse of my ceiling, willing the slow, burning heat between my legs to stop.

His hands . . . those huge, but gentle hands on my thighs. His mouth on my breasts, sucking, licking, pulling at my nipples with his teeth, soothing with his tongue. My breath came faster and I turned onto my side, squeezing my legs together.

Nothing helped. Everything amped my temperature higher.

What the hell? I was a single woman, for God’s sake, not a nun. But I’d always equated masturbation to Christmas presents with no wrapping—nice in theory, but no real payoff. No wow factor, kind of blah. I wasn’t very good at it. It took too long and I had other things to do.

Own your pleasure.

“Humph.” If I ever expected to be a normal sexual person, I had to do normal sexual things. I should have known what I liked. How I liked to be touched—so said all the books I’d read. I don’t even remember the last time I’d tried to get myself off. Jaxxon had shown me I could feel pleasure, but I now wanted to know if I could feel it on my own.

Pulling my sheet over me, I closed my eyes and allowed my mind to go where it wanted—straight to Jaxxon.

I thought about the first time I’d seen him on that bench and we’d made eye contact. A strange warmth had began to spread like warm honey down my entire body.

I brought my hand to my throat and rubbed the fevered skin just below it.

His face. I loved his face. His perfectly clipped beard, his ever-changing hazel eyes, those firm, full lips. And I now knew what they felt like against my skin. His physique, a complete contrast to his demeanor.

I rubbed my hands up and down my arms. His hands had encircled my entire biceps, and the harder he’d held me, the tighter his grip . . . the safer I’d felt. How was that even possible? I should have been repulsed that being held down in any way turned me on. But with him, it had; I’d been more grounded than I ever felt before.

I let the restless anxiety flow out of me on a long exhale. I brought my hands down, yanked up the t-shirt, and tentatively cupped my breasts.

His thumbs had strummed my nipples until they’d pebbled, almost as hard as they were now. Taking them both between my thumbs and index fingers, I tentatively pinched them to see if the feeling came close to what it felt like when he did it, or when he ran teeth down the peaks. The bite of pain came close. Not as good, but not bad, either.

I lightly scraped my fingernails from the swells of my breasts to my nipples and pinched again, discovering the bite of pain, became a tether of pleasure from the tips of my breasts to my clitoris. I pushed my head back into the pillow harder. His mouth had been so warm, his tongue so wet, and when he sucked my nipples between his lips, I’d come close to climax right there.

As my breathing staggered, I let my hands travel down my stomach to rest above my mound. I forced myself to touch the scars. I found the sewn-together skin topping the scars sensitive to my touch. My eyes shot open.

You can’t make them go away.

I ran a finger over them again. It wasn’t a bad feeling . . . different, but not bad. Rick had avoided touching the scars, and I touched them as little as possible. But Jaxxon didn’t strike me as the avoidant type. If I ended up having sex with him, he may concede to my no-lights request, but judging from his behavior last night, he’d definitely feel them. Often.

I moved my hand lower, covering my cleft with my fingers over the fabric of my panties. I held myself for a second, imagining my hand was his. Wetness coated the pads of my fingertips. A normal reaction, one I now knew I was capable of having. Even by myself.

A burst of relief washed over me. My chest rose and fell faster and I began a gentle circle, rubbing my pubis, letting the pressure of my own hand take me higher.

I ran my middle finger from the hood of my clit to the bottom of my entrance. I opened my eyes when I found the thin strip of cotton covering my pussy sopping wet. Feeling the wetness made the ache between my legs worse.

“Oh . . . shit,” I moaned and closed my eyes again, my body heaving.

With one hand, I yanked the thin material aside and slipped my middle finger down between my wet lips. Dragging it up one side and then the other, I circled my clit slowly, imagining my finger was Jaxx’s tongue. I needed my other hand. Panting, I jerked the scrap of material down my legs, leaving it hanging off of one foot.

Lying back down, I let my legs fall to my sides. I wanted his hands wrapped around my thighs, holding them down, opening me up. I yearned for his touch—craved the things he’d said he wanted to do to me. Reaching one hand behind my head and wrapping it around one of the slats in my headboard, I rocked my hips against my own finger.

My clit swelled and grew more sensitive with each circle. I threw my head back, imagining him behind me, my legs resting over his, spread wide for him, my hands locked around his neck as he split my slippery lips open and worked my clit.

I rubbed a little faster. The sensitive bundle of nerves started to pulse and burn under my wet finger. I spread my legs wider. “Oh . . . My—God . . . ”

I wanted him to tease my clit the way he had my nipples, with his finger, with his tongue, his . . . teeth. I gasped as the muscles in my thighs quivered so hard I lost my rhythm. I dipped my finger down, coating it with my juices, and circled harder, faster.

“Jesus!” I moaned as a rush of wetness coated the top of my thighs. All that pent-up energy shattered around me in an eruption of sheer euphoria, like a dormant volcano finally releasing pressure built up for centuries, starting at my core and spreading through the rest of me.

“Jaxxon!” His name echoing through my room in such a desperate plea pushed me farther over the edge and I clamped my legs together, my hand still caught between my thighs. I rolled over, pushing my face into my pillow, holding myself and groaning into the cotton as my entire body pulsed again and again.

As I lay there, I expected to be afflicted by some sort of lingering shame for doing what I’d just done. But I had none. I’d always felt guilty trying to give myself some kind of sexual release, because it felt unnatural doing it myself. In my head, imperfection didn’t deserve to be rewarded—a self-imposed reminder of how being weak marred a person for life.

But I could. I could feel pleasure, even my own, and I felt . . . free. A smile pushed at my lips and I savored the feeling as I pulled the pillow tight between my thighs, needing the pressure. I lay there feeling a little bit slutty, but not enough to give a shit, because for once, I felt . . . normal. Like a normal woman who could enjoy her own sexual pleasure.

My entire body hummed, shook with tiny aftershocks. Once the elation of my own bold actions cleared, what remained was a new level of desire I knew I couldn’t get rid of on my own. Only he could. Coming so hard should have taken the edge off, so why did I ache all over, more than I did before I’d lain down?

I hoped I could hold onto this newfound confidence with him in person, and not as just the star of my dirtiest fantasies. I wanted to be able to give to him and take care of him too, the way he did me. But I’d failed so miserably with Rick, I could only pray Jaxxon would be patient. My insecurities aside, for the first time ever, I wanted to give sexually to a man, not out of obligation, but because he made me feel safe and confident enough to do so.

The subtle, but overly loud, chime of my doorbell in the early morning hours broke my post-orgasm musings. Nails screeching down a chalkboard would have been less jarring.

I jackknifed straight up in bed, leaving me, the sheets, the pillows rumpled to shit. I hopped to my knees and crawled around my bed, searching for my underwear, which in my wanton frenzy had somehow flown off my damn foot. “Now he comes back? Seriously?!”

At last, I found those fucking panties and leaned back on the mattress to drag them over my legs and hips. But shit! They were drenched . . .

My phone went off. I huffed and lunged to grab it off the table, blowing the hair out of my face to see the screen.

Baby, I’m at the door.

“Yeah,” I scoffed. “No shit you are.” I leaped off the bed, hauling ass into the bathroom. I washed my hands and finger-combed my hair into—something less mussed I hoped.

I jerked on my sweats one leg at a time, hopping on alternating feet to my bedroom door.

I stuck my head out and looked down the hall. Chris and Kyle sat staring at the door, whining, tails wagging. “Give me a second, Jaxx,” I yelled.

Smoothing down his shirt I was still wearing, I looped my mangled hair over my ears and hustled to the door. I retied the string on my sweats so tight I cringed as it bit into my oversensitive, damp skin. I put a hand on the doorknob and sent up a small prayer.